


The Gospel According to Mills

by TheAmethystRiddle



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-29
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-13 08:00:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/821894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAmethystRiddle/pseuds/TheAmethystRiddle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Emma and Regina find themselves buried alive, it looks like the end has come for both of them. Instead, Regina survives and is left to pick up the pieces of both her life and the mystery of their strange abduction. Even if you don't usually do character death fics, give this one a shot and I swear it'll pay off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I've a couple things to note before I start this. First off, this is set after "The Miller's Daughter" and ignores basically everything that happened in the show after that. Second, the prologue is eerily similar to the season two finale, which is really weird because I started writing this about a week before the finale aired, but obviously the similarities aren't intentional (and the following plot is probably better than what will happen in season three ugh). Last, the information I've got up on the characters and pairings that'll be featured is pretty tentative for now, so some of that may change as we go along. Anyway, this is my first attempt at publishing a multichap, so we'll see how this goes!

“Regina. Regina!”

Emma Swan’s hoarse whisper is the last she thing wants to have drag her from the depths of sleep, but her cramped legs and aching neck quickly inform her that she has little choice. The light of Emma’s deftly wielded cell phone is all that pierces the darkness, but its narrow beam is enough to illuminate bits and pieces of their surroundings.

She is vaguely aware of their bodies pressed together in a myriad of uncomfortable ways, but her attention is focused on the rather more urgent issue of the presumably tens or hundreds of pounds of dirt currently bowing the car roof above them. She freezes in panic, even her dark heart stilling for one awful moment that feels as if it is stretching into eternity – _trapped_ , she thinks, and the word echoes hollowly within her – and then she pulls the Queen down over her desire to break into childish sobs.

“At least we have the little comfort of knowing we have been buried alive in my car and not yours.” It is worth the sudden pain of the light in her eyes to know that Emma Swan has seen her sneer.

“This isn’t really the fucking time,” Emma hisses as she tries gracelessly to extricate herself from the heap they’ve found themselves in. They’re sprawled in the back seat of the car, entangled in a way that suggests whoever dumped them here cared very little about their comfort – only that they remained alive, perhaps deliberately long enough to wake up. Regina frowns as she feels a foot wiggle near the small of her back.

“Do you mind, dear? While I’m sure you’re having fun kicking me in the spine, your struggle is currently using up the air we ought to conserve if we wish to survive.” Regardless, she lifts her hips, apparently surprising Emma, who jerks her leg as if expecting to have to wrest it away from Regina. The movement topples her off the seat, her head hitting the door with a thump as she falls into the space between the front and back seats. Regina does her the monumental favor of trying very hard not to laugh.

“If you’re so worried about air, why don’t you just kill me? You’d live a hell of a lot longer that way!” Regina knows what biting back tears sounds like, and she allows herself just the tiniest moment of glee at hearing that note in the voice of the supposed Savior. 

“Oh, believe me, I would do exactly that if I thought it would do me a damn bit of good,” she says evenly, and the glare Emma shoots her by light of the cell phone still lying on the seat is so earnestly hateful it’s almost endearing.

“Yeah, you’d have a hard time explaining that one to Henry,” she growls, struggling to climb out of the small space. Regina quickly sits up, vacating half the seat and leaning up against the car door, her legs tucked underneath her. Emma huffs quietly as she gets situated and then places the phone on the seat between them. She fiddles with the screen for a bit, her eyebrows drawn together in concentration and frustration.

“I don’t suppose you’re getting a signal down here,” Regina asks, though the answer is already clear.

“Yeah, wouldn’t that be easy. I’m not getting anything at all. What about you, what about your magic? Couldn’t that-?” But Regina holds up hand with a rueful smile, her curved fingers not even producing a crackle.

“Wouldn’t that be easy,” she echoes, lowering her hand and turning her head to stare at the window as if there were something to see beyond the glass. The silence that falls between them is filled with the sound of their breathing, both of them hyper-aware of the fact that each inhale brings them a step closer to suffocation. The air around them is already stale and uncomfortably warm.

“I wouldn’t really, you know,” she says finally, and Emma looks up sharply.

“Kill me?”

“No. Have trouble telling Henry. I imagine you’d die heroically for my sake, and of course I’d be properly heartbroken. Perhaps even repentant.” Her smile is more a baring of teeth than any expression of happiness.

The sudden pain on Emma’s face isn’t as sweet as she thought it would be, and for a moment she considers taking it back, taking it all back, starting over from somewhere not so dark and not so far gone. But even as she thinks it she knows it’s much, much too late. She’s in this too deep to claw her way out. Instead she turns back to the dark window and tries to take steady breaths. Regret is no reason to rush their deaths.

“You’re a bitch,” Emma says, after a long silence Regina thought would not be broken. She’s heard much worse from people whose opinions mattered much more to her, but something in Emma’s voice pierces her like a needle. “He really thought you could change, you know? But I guess people like you never can.”

The feeling is akin to being struck in the stomach. Emma is right. She will not, cannot ever let go of the Evil Queen. Because when it comes down to it, to situations like this, she will always become that woman again. Fear and selfishness will always rule her heart.

“Yes, so sorry to disappoint,” she replies with a sneer. “There are some things we just can’t let go.”

“You know what, though? I forgive you.” Regina cannot possibly roll her eyes more theatrically at Emma’s words. Apparently self-righteous acts of kindness run in the Charming family. “But not – not because it’s the right thing to do, or the good thing to do, or whatever.”

As much as she hates it, Regina can’t help asking. “Why then?”

“Because you could never forgive my mother, and that made you into – into _this_. Twisted you into someone different, someone I never want to be.”

“So you’re forgiving me because you’re better than me, is that it?” Her lip curls in disgust.

“No. I’m forgiving you because I _want_ to be better.”

Regina is taken aback, perhaps not shocked but certainly silenced. As if she doesn’t want to be better, hasn’t always wanted to be better. Hasn’t fought with every fiber of her being only to fail every time. But Emma – and with this thought she feels the bile rising in her throat – oh, Emma will succeed, she knows it. She will succeed beautifully where Regina has always fallen short. She curls her fingers into fists so tight that her fingernails pierce her skin. Yes, she should kill this woman. She _will_ kill this woman.

“But I guess that’s dumb, huh? Everybody wants to be better, but it’s not ever that easy.” Emma, as usual, is oblivious enough to continue – or perhaps perceptive enough to backtrack. Regina has never been sure of anything with this woman except that the two of them are caught up in something, and at the center of it all is Henry.

And just like that the wall of hate and anger that she has been building desperately since she awoke is swept away. Henry. If she dies here, if they both die here – he will be left alone. Without a mother, without either mother, with only the monumentally inept Charmings and more than likely a less-than-honorably intentioned Rumpelstiltskin to raise him.

“Henry…” she murmurs, her fists clenching.

“Yeah,” Emma replies quietly. “If you really think we’re not gonna – if we’re not gonna make it, we should probably leave him a message or something. A goodbye.”

Regina can hardly speak for the pressure in her throat, but she nods in agreement. Emma opens up a recording software on her phone and then holds it between them, her finger shaking slightly as it hovers over the record button.

“You ready?” she asks, looking as pained as Regina feels. When she nods again Emma makes a poor attempt at a smile. “Don’t cry or anything, okay?”

“I’m not going to cry,” Regina snaps, though the look on Emma’s face says that perhaps she meant it for herself as much as she meant it for Regina. The two of them take a shaky breath in unison and then Emma presses record.

“Hey, Henry, this is your moms,” Emma says, and Regina wonders why that sounds so natural, so right.

“Hello, Henry.” Her voice wavers despite her best efforts. “We want you to know that we love you very much. We will always love you.” 

“And we’ll always be with you, even if it seems like we’re gone.”

“So do your homework, and eat your vegetables, and be good, okay?”

“Yeah, do what your mom says. And listen to Gramma and Grampa, or – or we’ll come back just to ground you.” Emma’s attempt at humor only pushes them both closer to tears.

“You are so very strong, Henry, and I know you will find happiness.” Because if there was one thing she wanted the most desperately for him, that was it. A good life, a joyful life, the kind of life she never had.

“Do that for us, Henry,” Emma adds. “Get your happy ending. That’s – that’s what would make us happy.”

“I love you, Henry.” As her voice breaks, Emma’s fingers brush hers for just an instant.

“And I love you, too. Bye, Henry.”

“Goodbye.”

Emma stops the recording and saves it before placing the phone between them once again. The light casts dark shadows on her, sharpening her features and deepening the lines on her face. Regina wonders whether she looks the same, tired and old and looking death in the eyes. She probably does.

They don’t speak now, not wanting to waste the air they can tell is quickly running out. There’s nothing to be said between them anyway, Regina thinks, though perhaps that’s not entirely true. Perhaps she owes Emma an apology, an explanation. That it was never really about her, it was just about fear. Fear and loneliness and selfishness. And above all, the desire to be loved.

She says nothing.

It’s not long before she begins to get light-headed and feel a strange numbness in her fingers and toes. She fights to keep her breathing shallow as she begins to panic and for some reason looks to Emma as a source of calm. But Emma is as frightened as she is, her eyes wide and her mouth drawn into a thin line. She raises a hand as if to reach out to Regina, but just as quickly draws it back. They turn away from each other again, staring at the dirt outside their respective windows.

She’s horribly dizzy when Emma speaks up, and it takes her a moment to process what the other woman has said.

“I don’t want to die alone.” She trudges through her thoughts, wondering how to respond. This is the end, yes, but it is an end that no one will see or remember. An end in which she can perhaps be weak.

“Neither do I.”

Emma moves toward her tentatively and settles next to her to lean heavily on her shoulder. The weight is comforting, as is the knowledge that for once someone stands with her in the face of death. Even if it is Emma Swan.

She’s fighting unconsciousness when the thought occurs to her as an echo of Emma’s earlier words _“ – live a hell of a lot longer that way – ”_ and she struggles to put her intentions together. Something about life for life, or life for love, or – life for magic.

“I’m going to save you,” she mutters, her words slurred, and Emma raises her head from Regina’s shoulder.

“You’re – ?” She shakes her head slightly, her mouth hanging open.

“I’m going to take me,” she gestures weakly at her chest, “and use it to save you. Life to magic. I think I can give you air and perhaps a beacon.” Surely she’s worth at least that much.

“Why?” Emma’s voice is hoarse.

“Because Henry – he loves you. And I – I’m too far gone. I can only be redeemed through death.”

Emma shakes her head, but Regina has already withdrawn. If she can think of herself as magic – the beat of her heart, the path of her blood, the span of her years – then it stands to reason that she can use herself as such.

She knows it’s working when she feels an awful tugging at her bones, like her tendons are being pried from her joints. _Air,_ she commands, and immediately it becomes easier to breathe. She hears Emma gasp beside her, but she keeps her own breath shallow as darkness edges her vision. She reaches a shaking hand toward the roof of the car but cannot bring her arm much higher than her shoulder until Emma grabs her wrist and presses Regina’s palm to the ceiling for her. She cannot think clearly enough to create a deliberate signal like sound or light, so she instead simply thinks, _bring them here_. She goes limp as the thought leaves her and falls against the window. Emma leans over her with what Regina thinks might be the most concern anyone has ever shown for her.

“Regina, you can’t die now, you’re not going to die,” she says frantically, grabbing her shoulder and shaking gently. “Regina, stay awake, stay with me!”

Regina closes her eyes and shakes her head ever so slightly. She’s so very, very tired. “Don’t waste what I gave you,” she whispers, her voice hoarse.

As the darkness takes her she sighs with something like relief. Finally, she can stop fighting. Finally, she can have some peace.


	2. Part One: The Fallen Savior

_"And he bought fine linen, and took him down, and wrapped him in the linen, and laid him in a sepulchre which was hewn out of a rock, and rolled a stone unto the door of the sepulchre."_ Mark 15:42


	3. Chapter 3

She hadn’t expected to wake up, so the white blur of the hospital room comes as a shock and her thoughts are a haze even as her vision clears. Her first question – _Henry, where’s Henry_ – is answered mercifully quickly. He lies on a couch against the wall of the room, fast asleep and wrapped in a jacket that’s much too large for him. Her mind still a whirl, she moves on to her next question – _Emma, where’s Emma?_

She doesn’t realize she’s said it out loud until she hears the sound of several chairs scooting back simultaneously. When she looks around she sees the Charmings and Rumpelstiltskin on their feet, coming toward her with wary looks on their faces.

“Regina-” Snow begins, and then stops in her tracks as Regina’s face twists into a snarl. But then her mouth sets in a determined line – so like her daughter, Regina thinks in a flash – and she continues. “Regina. Emma’s not – she’s not-” Her face contorts with agony, and while Regina enjoys the display she can tell that something is very wrong. When Snow turns away, tears streaming down her face, Charming steps forward with a similar pain on his face.

“She didn’t – she didn’t make it, Regina. She’s – gone.”

She feels as though her stomach has dropped out of her, leaving her with a gaping, sickening hole in her torso. Emma – gone. Finally gone like she always thought she wanted. Emma is dead and Henry is finally hers. This is a good thing, she tells herself. This is good.

“We need to know if you had anything at all to do with this.” Rumpel’s voice brings her attention back to the group in the room, and as she looks at them now she realizes why they are here. She supposes in her first naïve moments she thought they might be concerned for her, but the hardened looks on Snow and Charming’s faces are all too familiar. She’s a suspect.

“Of course I didn’t,” she snaps, and then is surprised at her own indignation. She refuses to be hanged for this when she did everything in her power to make sure her and Emma’s situations would be reversed. “I tried to save her!” she continues, and when the Charmings look shocked her voice rises to a weak shout. “I’m not _blind_ , I do know that he prefers her! My life for hers, it’s what he would want, what would make him happy!”

Rumpelstiltskin has turned his back, but Snow and Charming are staring at her with looks akin to pity. She clenches her jaw and after a moment speaks again, her voice contained.

“I was fully prepared to sacrifice myself for her – for him. Do you understand that? My connection with her death is only that I failed to keep her alive. Now I suggest you take your accusations elsewhere. Get out.” When none of them moves she summons the last of her strength to raise her voice once again. “Get out!”

Rumpel sweeps out the door, leaning heavily on his cane as he makes his way down the ward. After a moment the Charmings move to follow, their eyes still on Regina.

“Come on, Henry,” Snow says quietly, and Regina realizes with a lurch that he is awake and staring at her with wide eyes.

“Mom?” he asks, and she can see now that his eyes are red from crying.

“Henry, I-” she begins, but her throat tightens. She can think of nothing to say, not now. After a moment he turns away, and as Charming puts a protective arm around his shoulders and walks him out, she hates so much to see that they really do look like a family.

She sinks back onto the bed, shaking and exhausted. As she closes her eyes she decides she will get up and leave. As she slips into sleep she paws at the bed, intending to search for her clothes. _Just for a moment,_ she thinks. _I’ll rest for just a moment._

When the nurse comes in she finds Regina fast asleep, her face for once untroubled.

:::

Early the next morning Regina wakes up and gets out of bed without hesitation. When the IV drip tugs at her hand uncomfortably she whirls around, for a moment disoriented by her surroundings. She realizes that she is not in her room at home in the same moment that she remembers the events of the past day, and with a snarl she pulls the needle out and flings it on the bed. She gets dressed as quickly as possible, slinging her blazer over her shoulders as she stalks out of the room, a bit shaky in her high heels. Grumpy jumps out of a chair just outside the door as she passes.

“Hey!” he shouts after her. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Home.” She doesn’t even bother looking back. “Surely you can allow me that luxury.”

When she makes it out of the building she stops in her tracks. She doesn’t have a car, or if she does she supposes it’s impounded as evidence or some such nonsense. She squares her shoulders. She’ll just have to walk.

She makes it the first few blocks just fine, but as she turns onto Main Street she begins to feel faint. She wraps her arms around herself to hide the shaking of her hands and presses on despite her mounting desire to vomit. She passes Granny’s with her head tucked low.

“You look like one hell of a morning after,” Red calls out.

“You may keep your comments to yourself, Miss Lucas,” Regina snaps, and she tries to quicken her pace but nearly stumbles instead.

“Look, do you need somebody to – whatever.” When Regina glances back she sees Red frowning after her, a serving platter tucked under her arm. She frowns back for good measure as she rounds the corner into the residential area. Only two more streets and then she’s home.

Her arrival is less satisfying than she’d hoped. She doesn’t have her purse with her – it wasn’t at the hospital, she’s sure – and her spare key isn’t under the mat. She walks around to the back, but the door there is locked as well.

“You look like you need a little help, dearie.”

She jumps violently, her blazer almost falling off her shoulders as she whirls around to find Rumpelstiltskin standing behind her wearing his usual smug expression.

“What do you want?” she snaps, and her desire to walk past him and back around to the front of the house wars with her desire to stay as far away from him as possible.

“Oh, just to help. I was passing by and noticed you seem to be locked out of your house. Would you like me to lend you a hand?”

“No.” She stares him down without blinking. “I would rather be forced to break into my own home than accept any sort of aid from you. I know better than to do that.”

He doesn’t look nearly as intimidated as she would like him to, but at the very least his smirk fades. “Well, that’s unfortunate,” he says quietly. “Are you quite certain-?”

“Quite.”

He shrugs slightly and turns away, and she watches him leave with a fierce frown. She can tell by his slow gait that he’s waiting for her to call him back, waiting for her to rely on him and indebt herself to him as she once did so often. But she knows better now, knows sharply the price of accepting even the smallest favor from him. It’s not until he’s turned the corner at the end of the street that she drops the mask of anger and walks back to the front of the house.

When she raises her hand to the doorknob this time it is with magic wrapped around her fingers. It’s weak and she has very little, but at least she’s not helpless as she was in the car with Emma. Still, even the small act of unlocking the door leaves her winded.

Her home is just as she left it, one comfort in a sea of anger and fear. And, if she is being perfectly honest with herself, grief. Though she’s loathe to admit it, there was something about Emma that she at least respected, and she feels that loss as another small wound next to the gaping loss of her mother. She wants to visit her mausoleum and the graves she built for her parents, but the thought of another trek across town quickly deters her. Instead she changes into pajamas and settles into bed with a book and a glass of wine. If nothing else, she can spend the rest of the day relatively pleasantly.

It is perhaps due to some twisted form of cosmic balance that her peaceful evening is followed by a horrific night. With the light off she shakes and retches, the shadows seeming to crawl and creep into her throat and suffocate her. With the light on she lies restless, the lamplight sending lancing pains through her skull. Tonight her childhood fear of the underside of her bed once again keeps her paralyzed even as her sweat soaks the pillow and the sheets beneath her. She feels very young and very small, and she falls asleep with tears dried on her face and the knowledge that she has no mother and no savior now to help her.

:::

Regina rises early despite the tiredness that weighs on her. It’s habit, really, that steps into the shower and washes her hair, that gets dressed and goes downstairs to make breakfast. It’s not so much habit that sets a tumbler of bourbon down next to her plain toast and eggs. She eats slowly, wincing at the sharp taste of alcohol in her mouth but welcoming the buzz that comes with it. She washes her dishes robotically, puts on her coat, and walks out of the house into a light rain. She’s halfway to her office before she realizes where she’s going and redirects her steps toward the cemetery. She doesn’t have flowers today, but going empty-handed is better than not going at all.

She nearly stops in her tracks when she sees the mass of people beyond the cemetery gate. Virtually the entire town is crowded solemnly onto the wet grass with their heads bowed low. Through a gap in the crowd she can see a jet black casket set next to a white headstone and a deep hole in the ground. Moe French stands at the head holding a set of bagpipes and near him stands Henry huddled up with the Charmings and a man she doesn’t recognize.

Realization comes to her a beat slower than reaction, so the choked sob rips from her before she can stop it. No one turns, no one notices, and though it’s a relief that none of them see her pain, it leaves her hollow with loneliness. As Moe screeches his way into a surprisingly adept rendition of “Amazing Grace,” she finds herself unable to stop the tears rolling down her cheeks. Tears for her mother, for herself, for everything that she has lost and everything she will never have. No ceremony, no grass to grow over her. No inscription – no “beloved daughter” or “beloved mother.” No place in this almost-family gathered here today to remember a woman she has always hated and still hates but whose death nonetheless strikes her all the way to her core.

She stumbles as she walks to the mausoleum, her vision blurred and her stomach filled with a rising anger. She focuses desperately on the bubbling rage – anything to distract from the open wound of sorrow – and snaps a twig viciously with the heel of her shoe. Emma fucking Swan and the way she just drove in and captured a town Regina had been fighting to keep for twenty-eight years. Emma _goddamn_ Swan and the way she made every single one of them love her without even trying at all.

The tomb is cold but it’s at least dry, and as she stares at the places she made for her parents – why she put them next to each other she doesn’t know, as they never loved each other anyway – she wonders if perhaps this will be the rest of her life. Grief piled on grief buried in anger until she herself is encased in the uncaring stone of her family crypt, just a girl nestled between her parents in the only expression of love they might ever show each other.

She cries herself to sleep leaning against her mother’s grave, and her dreams are reminders of what it is like to watch a person die in her arms.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a bit long, I've got work and life and things going on right now. The next one ought to come up quicker than this (knock on wood), as I've got it more fleshed out than I did this one.

The strangest thing about the world, she thinks, is that no matter what it still goes on without you. Even when she made her own little town and held it still in time, there had always been a larger world turning on around them. And now is no different. She feels as though Emma’s death should make something stop, should make the days halt or the spring growth freeze, but each morning the sun rises and the shops open and Regina gets out of bed and gets dressed.

She doesn’t go anywhere, of course, but she can’t bear the thought of sitting around her house in her pajamas all day, so every morning she rises to select an outfit and apply her makeup before going downstairs to sit listlessly for hours on the living room sofa. She runs through the bourbon in four days and moves on to a bottle of scotch, then to the honey whiskey, and finally to the wine. At the very least her extensive collection spares her the embarrassment of being seen going to the liquor store.

Other than drink her way through each mockingly sunny day, she does little besides visit the mausoleum. Once there she stands silently by her mother’s grave, staring blankly at the stone until her feet and head begin to ache. She doesn’t bring flowers anymore; Moe refuses her access to his shop and she can’t bring herself to hold it against him. The entire town blames her for Emma’s death, and she assumes it is only some intervention on the part of the Charmings that keeps the townspeople from breaking down her door and burning her at the stake. As it is they seem to be satisfied with shunning her silently.

She spends three weeks in that silence.

:::

The knock on her door comes on a Tuesday morning following a sleepless Monday night. She can’t think of anyone who would have any desire to see her, and furthermore she can’t think of anyone she’d care to see. She’s retreating up the stairs to her bedroom when it comes again, this time louder and more insistent. She entertains the idea of simply letting whoever it is stand there and knock until they leave, but when they knock a third time she gets the irritating feeling that they will not give up. With an angry sigh she heads back downstairs and wrenches the door open, her scowl fierce enough to scare away grown men.

Unfortunately it is not a man that stands on her porch but Snow White. In a flash her irritation changes to shock and then to the pure, surging rage that only Snow can awaken in her. She raises her hand to let loose a bolt of her now-returned magic, but stops when Snow practically bows before her and throws her hands out in a supplicating gesture.

“Please, Regina, I just want to talk.” Regina sneers in response.

“You have thirty seconds.”

“Henry needs you.”

She freezes. If nothing else, Snow clearly knows exactly what to say to get Regina’s full attention. Her expression guarded, she steps out of her doorway and onto the porch and fixes Snow with a piercing stare. Snow straightens and returns her gaze.

“I’m listening.”

“He’s mourning. You’re mourning – no, don’t say you’re not because we know you are. We’re all mourning. People aren’t meant to grieve alone, Regina. He needs you. And you need him.”

Regina simply stares, her mind working furiously. She wants more than anything to be with Henry again, but she’s fairly certain that those interactions would also have to include the Charmings. As deeply as she misses her son, the thought of any amount of time spent with Snow White makes her skin crawl.

“Please, Regina. He’s already lost one mother. Don’t make him lose both.” As if she hasn’t already made her choice. She nods slowly, her face a careful mask. The thought of seeing Henry again, the thought of Snow’s words – _“he needs you”_ – fill her with an almost guilty joy. Given the choice she would not have wanted to hurt him to bring them back together, but as it is she can hardly complain. In a strange way things have worked out exactly as she planned; Emma’s death has brought Henry back to her.

“Yes, I – of course I’ll see him.” She shoves her hands in her jacket pockets to hide their shaking.

Snow nods, looking almost relieved. “Good. We’re, uh, we’re having dinner tonight. If you want to come.” Regina stands very still for a moment, then nods slowly back.

“Yes. I would like that.” Not entirely true, but close enough.

“Okay. You don’t have to bring anything, we’ve got it covered. Um, be over at six?”

“Yes.” Regina doesn’t trust herself to speak right now.

Snow stands awkwardly for a moment and then nods in an attempt to lend some finality to the encounter. “Well. We’ll see you then.”

“Yes.” And then, almost as an afterthought, “See you then.”

She watches Snow head down the walkway and around the corner to the street. To her credit, Snow doesn’t once look back. It’s not until she’s out of sight that Regina turns and goes back into the house, her heart pounding. She stands frozen in the foyer for several minutes and then suddenly moves so quickly to put on her shoes and coat that she nearly trips. She heads to the cemetery through a back way, coming out of the woods behind the mausoleum and slipping inside. There she falters, her mother’s tomb looming gray and imposing. She’s no longer sure whether she should come here with this news.

“Mother, I –” she steps forward and puts a hesitant hand on the cold stone. “I get another chance. With Henry. A real chance, a chance to love him like I should. Like he deserves.” Of course there is no response. Talking to a grave is ridiculous and accomplishes nothing. She pulls away, her heart sinking for reasons she cannot fathom. She turns to go with tears in her eyes but then turns back sharply. “I know you loved me as best you could. But I also know now that it wasn’t enough. And I won’t make the same mistake, Mother. I have my heart. I plan to learn to love with all of it.”

She rushes out of the mausoleum and back along the wooded path toward home. Her heart is racing, and she feels strangely triumphant. Heartbroken, lost, exhausted – but at the same time as if she has gained her first real victory in a very long time. She only hopes she can keep it.

:::

At five thirty she stands in front of her bathroom mirror, half-dressed with several outfits laid out in front of her. She knows she has a tendency to overdress, but to be honest she’s not sure what exactly qualifies as casual. She can picture the scene quite vividly; Snow in a disgusting pastel cardigan, Charming in one of his seemingly infinite number of plaid shirts, Henry so small in the clothes she’d bought too large in the hope that he’d grow into them – and her, sitting stiffly in one of her power suits, perhaps regal in navy blue or challenging in bright red. But regardless of her choice still so, so out of place. A woman most out of her element when trying to fit in.

Finally she decides on black, a turtleneck and the least sheer of her skirts. She stares at a pair of flats she keeps tucked into the corner of her closet but then slips into heels instead. She’ll need every inch she can get if she wants to make it through the evening.

She shows up at the apartment with her empty hands pressed to her skirt. She knocks, too quickly and too lightly, but the door comes open almost immediately anyway. Charming looks almost as if he is in pain, his brows drawn high and his lips pressed together, but his voice is steady when he speaks.

“Come on in, Regina.”

He steps back to let her in, and as she enters she’s struck suddenly by the interior of the apartment. So casual, so comfortable, so effortlessly cute. So very different from her home.

The table is already set. After closing the door behind her Charming steps around Regina and gestures at a chair, looking for a moment as though he is going to pull it out for her before thinking better of it. She sits and folds her hands in her lap.

Snow is in the kitchen area with a pair of oven mitts on, and as Charming heads up the stairs she pulls a casserole out of the oven and carries it to the table.

“Hey, Henry. Dinner’s ready,” Regina hears. It takes all of her will not to turn her head and look.

“Is Mom here?” His voice is so quiet and small. She hides her desire to cry with a fierce frown.

“He was the one who asked if you could come,” Snow says quietly as she sits down, and Regina starts violently. She wonders suddenly how this woman can know her so well yet hurt her so often and so much. Then she lifts her chin and stares straight ahead, her face hard.

“Thank you. For allowing me into your home.”

“Oh, Regina,” Snow says quietly, and for a moment Regina is worried Snow may try to reach out and touch her. But then she shifts away and seemingly unconsciously mimics Regina’s pose. “It’s the least we could do.”

Henry’s sneakers squeak as he comes down the stairs, and without thinking Regina speaks.

“Henry, how many times have I told you not to leave your shoes on in the house?” Her immediate panic is so strong that she can’t do anything to hide it but refuse to make eye contact with anyone in the room. But after a moment of terse silence she hears Henry laugh weakly.

“Yes, Mom.” Perhaps it’s only wishful thinking that lends an almost teasing note to his voice. A smile comes more easily when she focuses on the tiny rush of relief, though when she turns to look at him she’s still not certain she’s set her face right.

“Old habits die hard,” she says. “I suppose I’ll still be telling you to leave your shoes at the door when you’re thirty.” 

He really smiles this time, his shoulders relaxing. “Yeah,” he says in a rush of breath, and she wonders what she’s done right – if only so she can do it again. He sits in the chair adjacent to hers and Charming takes a seat as well. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Snow gestures at the table in a rather forced show of enthusiasm.

“Let’s eat!”

The casserole pan goes around, along with a plate of rolls and a bowl of green beans. Regina takes sparingly, picking at the food uncertainly; despite the fact that it’s surprisingly good, her stomach is roiling with anxiety. She glances periodically at her glass of water, wishing it might turn to wine.

Talk is stilted and brief, and she is glad when Snow stands and begins picking up the plates.

“Henry, do you want some ice cream?” Snow asks. “We’ve got that whole carton in the freezer.”

“Mom? Do you want ice cream?” He turns to her and she swears her heart skips a beat.

“I would love some,” she says, feeling giddy. He smiles and then turns to nod at Snow, who nods back and begins pulling bowls and spoons out of the cupboards. Regina isn’t sure how she expects to keep down ice cream when she could barely swallow bread, but turning Henry down doesn’t even occur to her.

Though he’d eaten little of his dinner, Henry attacks his ice cream with considerable gusto. Regina watches him happily as he picks around the walnuts and then asks enthusiastically for more chocolate sauce. She takes a few absent bites of her own, mostly when Henry is looking, and he seems satisfied with this. By the time he sets his spoon down in his empty bowl she feels full just having watched him.

Charming stands and looks at his watch before reaching out and patting Henry on the shoulder.

“It’s eight thirty, little man. Time to start getting ready for bed.” Henry groans.

“He’s right, Henry,” Regina says, and Henry slumps into a pout.

“Fine.” He gets up and shuffles to the stairs, clearly hoping that someone will change their mind.

“I should get going as well,” Regina says quietly. As she stands, Snow stands as well, pushing her chair back with a clatter.

“I will walk you out of the building,” she says awkwardly, her words rushing together, and Regina simply stares at her, too conscious of Henry’s presence to say anything sharp. She makes sure to watch Snow wince in embarrassment before turning back to Henry with a smile.

“Good night, Henry. I’d like to see you again soon, if that’s alright.” Henry turns on the stairs and beams at her.

“Yeah! Night, Mom.” Before she can react he runs back to her and hugs her, then just as quickly pulls away and scrambles up the stairs. Regina stands stunned, her mind working hard to both process and to keep her growing joy from showing on her face. Charming mutters something about the dishes and heads quickly into the kitchen, but Snow simply watches her with a strange expression on her face.

When she’s regained control of herself Regina straightens and heads for the door. She stops with her hand on the doorknob and turns back to Snow. “I suppose you’re still insisting on walking with me,” she says coldly.

Snow nods and follows her out the door and down the narrow stairs. She doesn’t speak until they’re standing at the door to the complex.

“We want you in Henry’s life. In our lives.” Regina keeps a sneer off of her face with some difficulty. But she is prepared to make this small sacrifice, has been since the moment the Charmings took her son. Anything to get him back.

“And I wish to be in his.”

“But there’s one condition, Regina.” This time Regina cannot keep her face from contorting into a snarl.

“You have no right to set conditions for me seeing my own son!” she snaps.

“I know, I know.” Snow looks down and shakes her head, looking pained. “But Regina, I think it would be better for both of you if you went and saw Archie for a while. Just – just a couple times, maybe,” she adds quickly when Regina scowls fiercely.

Regina stares at her for a long moment. In all honesty she had been thinking about going to see Dr. Hopper as well, but damned if she was going to share that with Snow White.

“Fine,” she says finally, and Snow relaxes visibly. “But you will set no restrictions on when and where I can see my son.”

“It’s all up to you and Henry,” Snow replies, nodding. “We won’t stop you.” Regina continues to stare until Snow begins to look uncomfortable again, and then with an almost regal pivot she turns on her heel and walks away.

The streets are dark and warm as she makes her way home.


End file.
